


Friend Request Pending

by aintitnifty



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, No Really That's All This Is, friendship fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintitnifty/pseuds/aintitnifty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a notification staring at Akashi from his Skype window: a new friend request. That in itself would normally not give him pause, but this friend request is different.</p>
<p>This friend request is from Kagami Taiga.</p>
<p>(aka, The one where Akashi is baffled by friendship but oddly not opposed to it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friend Request Pending

**Author's Note:**

> I need akakaga friendship like burning, okay, guys? I just need it. So this is my way of addressing that. And many thanks to my lovely Vicky, for her support and ideas!
> 
> Slight content warning for hints of Akashi's dad being an asshole and a bit of a racist, and for very minor hints of aokaga, because apparently I can't control myself.
> 
> Also, this fic is sponsored by Skype and the NHL.
> 
> ... just go with it.

There is a notification staring at Akashi from his Skype window: a new friend request. That in itself would normally not give him pause—he is popular at school, looked up to by the entire Rakuzan basketball club and by many of his own classmates—but this friend request is different.

This friend request is from Kagami Taiga.

The small square photograph beside the name is surprisingly subtle, a picture of Kagami’s back in Seirin’s black uniform, emblazoned with a scarlet 10. Akashi wonders vaguely who took the photo—it isn’t bad, the bright lights of whichever court Kagami was standing on creates an eye-catching silhouette effect against the dark uniform and strong shoulders—and supposes his best guess is probably Kuroko, considering how close the two of them are, teammates and light and shadow and all that, but that just brings Akashi right back to where he started:

Kagami Taiga has sent him a friend request.

He and Kagami are not friends. They faced each other in the Winter Cup, and Kagami impressed Akashi, sure, but they did not leave the tournament as _friends_.

Thus, this friend request makes no sense.

Frustrated, Akashi grabs his phone from beside his computer and dials Midorima. He glares at his computer screen as he waits for Midorima to answer, as though perhaps a fierce enough scowl will make the notification disappear.

(It does not disappear.)

“Akashi,” Midorima says, his voice calm and a little tinny through the phone.

“Shintarou,” Akashi says. “Are you friends with Kagami Taiga on Skype?”

Silence on the other end of the phone line. Akashi can picture Midorima collecting his thoughts, trying to find logic in the question, a reason for his own answer.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, and Akashi’s brow furrows.

“For how long?”

“A few months, I suppose. Why, did he send you a request?”

“He did.” Akashi hovers the cursor over the Accept button. “What do you suppose it means?”

Midorima lets out a huff of laughter. “I don’t think it means anything. It’s Kagami.”

Akashi hums, tapping a finger on his laptop’s touchpad. “Who else has he added?”

“Kuroko, obviously. Kise. Aomine, I think, and I seem to remember Momoi saying that she chatted with him once when they watched the season finale of some American TV show. That thrones show.” Someone speaks in the background and Midorima’s voice goes distant as he turns away from the speaker. “Sorry, what?” The background voice speaks again, and Midorima says, into the phone, “Oh, and Takao says Kagami friended him, too.”

“Apparently he has been busy.”

“It would seem so.”

“Thank you, Shintarou. I’ll let you get back to your friend.”

They hang up, and Akashi hovers the cursor over the request again.

Kagami Taiga.

With a slight smile and a shake of his head, he clicks Accept.

*

Akashi is staring at his computer screen again. More specifically, he is staring at a name about halfway down his list of contacts, beside which hovers a small green icon showing the person’s status as Online. Akashi wonders if this is even true, because he has been online himself for almost thirty minutes, and Kagami has not yet sent him a single message.

Not that Akashi expects a full-blown, hours-long video chat, or anything, but it’s the first time they have both been online since the day Akashi accepted Kagami’s request, and Akashi expected at least a perfunctory hello. Some acknowledgment that Akashi is there, that Akashi accepted him, that Akashi is willing to entertain the idea of maybe someday speaking with him.

But it’s been almost thirty minutes now and Kagami has yet to make a single move. Akashi even tried going invisible and then returning a few times, to see if the notification sounds of him apparently signing on and off would capture Kagami’s attention, but to no avail.

Akashi drums his fingers on his laptop, just to the right of his touchpad, eyes narrowed at Kagami’s icon and that stupidly misleading green symbol.

And then someone else signs onto Skype, the soft sound startling in the silence of Akashi’s room; Akashi jumps and immediately curses himself for getting so distracted. A quick glance at his contact list shows that it’s Reo, who goes immediately on away—Akashi wonders vaguely (and not at all bitterly) why he even bothered to sign on in the first place—and then Akashi looks at the clock.

He has been staring on and off at Kagami Taiga’s name for twenty-eight minutes.

A message pops up: _are you having trouble with your internet, akashi-kun?_

It’s from Kuroko. Frowning, Akashi scans his contacts list, but Kuroko’s name and icon—the small black and white puppy he carries with him everywhere—are not there.

He responds: _my internet is fine, i just went invisible for a moment. why are you invisible?_

_kise-kun is online_ , Kuroko responds.

All Akashi types back is _tetsuya_ , but he knows Kuroko can sense the tone.

_i don’t always go invisible when he’s online_ , Kuroko types back. _only when i’m trying to do my homework. kise-kun takes a lot of attention._

Akashi supposes that’s true, and he says so. He is tempted to ask Kuroko if he is chatting with Kagami, too, but Akashi still has no explanation as to why Kagami’s silence bothers him so much, so he decides it’s safer to keep this newest insanity to himself.

_good luck with your homework_ , he writes to Kuroko, an easy out if Kuroko really is busy, and Kuroko replies with a quick _thanks_ and then goes silent once more.

Akashi spends one more minute staring at Kagami’s name, and then takes a deep breath, double-clicks the name to bring up a new chat, and types, _hello_. One quick jab of the Enter key and the message is sent, impossible to take back. Akashi lets out his breath and watches the window, waiting for the small italic words to announce Kagami is typing, but they never appear.

Ten minutes later they still have not appeared, and Akashi has utterly failed to distract himself by beating some poor random opponent at online shogi.

He keeps bringing the Skype window to the foreground in between moves, glaring hard at that one tiny word: _hello_. What an insipid message to send, so easily ignored. Irritation and embarrassment burn beneath Akashi’s skin, and he wants nothing more than to close the window and shove away from the computer and go for a run or a walk or a drive, anything to get away from this blank, glaring Skype window and this strange new obsession with Kagami Taiga.

But then again, perhaps it is a misunderstanding. Perhaps Akashi is not being purposefully, spitefully ignored. Perhaps Kagami received the message and got distracted and forgot to reply. Or perhaps—

_Kagami is typing_

Akashi feels the blood rush from his face as he stares at those small gray words, and all thoughts of shogi go straight out the window as he waits for the message to appear.

The message comes in: _hey sorry i was video chatting with my friend in the states_

And then, seconds later: _hows it going_

Akashi automatically lifts his hands to the keyboard and then freezes, his fingers hovering motionless over the keys. Dozens of possible answers swirl through his mind: _it’s fine that you didn’t reply, how is your friend, i’m okay, i’m a little tired, why did you reply, why didn’t you message me first, why am i so concerned about this_

Finally he settles on, _it’s fine, i’m doing pretty well. how are you?_

Apparently there will be no more waiting for Kagami’s answers; he starts typing as soon as Akashi sends the message.

_a little tired_ , Kagami responds. _practice was rough tonight. sprinting drills are a killer._

_suicides?_ Akashi sends before he can even take the proper time to think about his response, but apparently it’s a fine reply, because Kagami sends back:

_suicides, breakaways, everything you can think of_

A pause, but Kagami is still typing, so Akashi waits patiently, his hands still poised over the keys.

_did you have practice tonight_ , Kagami sends.

_of course_ , Akashi replies.

_how’d it go_

Akashi pauses again before replying, wondering if this could be some strange way for Seirin’s coach to gain intel on Rakuzan, but he decides there’s no harm as long as he keeps his information vague.

_tiring_ , he says, _but satisfying. a good day._

_yeah i know how that goes_ , Kagami says, and he really doesn’t use any punctuation, does he? Akashi should probably find that annoying, but instead it seems strangely fitting. Comforting, almost. Kagami is talking to him the same way he’d talk to anyone else.

Another message: _tough practices are great b/c i feel like i’m getting a lot out of them but it also makes it hard to do schoolwork or housework when i get home ya know_

Akashi considers his own homework, sitting uncompleted on his bed across the room.

_i feel the same_ , he sends.

There’s a beat of silence, in which Kagami is not typing for once. Akashi waits, wondering what he’s doing, whether he’s talking to other people (Kuroko? Or even Kise, perhaps?). He even brings the shogi game to the foreground once more, although his opponent has already resigned, either annoyed at being ignored or already sensing defeat.

A message chirps at him: _hey sorry to cut this short but i really should get some homework done_

Another message: _and i haven’t eaten dinner yet_

Akashi clicks the second message notification to bring Skype to the front again, trying to ignore the strange sensation of disappointment he feels reading those messages.

_i understand_ , he types. _have a nice night._

He’s about to finally sign off and work on his own assignments when another message pops up:

_will you be on tomorrow_

Something warm and unfamiliar lurches to life in his chest, and Akashi thinks about tomorrow. It will be a Friday. Practice after school, followed by a terse dinner with his father and then, presumably, homework. Lots of homework. He’ll have no time for it over the weekend, not with Saturday practices and his grandparents visiting on Sunday.

_yes_ , he responds anyway, and if he smiles when Kagami replies to that with a _great talk to you then_ , well, no one is around to see it.

*

Their Friday night conversation ends up lasting almost three hours. Akashi still can’t quite remember everything they talked about. Basketball, definitely. School, of course. He thinks some of their mutual acquaintances popped up, as well, and he seems to remember telling some story about the time Atsushi accidentally exploded a bag of chips all over the Teikou court during practice and was forced to run laps in between sweeping.

Whatever the topics, their conversation flowed with almost ridiculous ease, and Akashi found himself unwilling to sign off at the end of the night, despite the early practice he had the next morning.

It’s Sunday now, and Akashi shifts minutely on the sofa, where he has been sitting for the past hour and a half, listening to his father and grandparents discuss business, politics, and sundry distant relatives. Akashi glances subtly at the clock on the wall; it’s a quarter to six. His grandparents are only supposed to stay for dinner and then be on their way.

“Seijuurou.”

Akashi jerks slightly when his grandfather speaks his name.

“Yes, Grandfather?”

“How is basketball going?” His grandfather’s eyebrows are furrowed behind his thin-rimmed glasses. “We hear you lost your recent tournament.”

Akashi’s hands clench into fists in his lap. “You heard correctly.”

“Hmm.” Akashi’s grandfather folds his hands together, tapping one gnarled thumb against his wrist. “That is too bad. Although, I suppose there is always next year.”

“That is true.”

“Be sure to make us proud next year, captain.”

“I will, Grandfather.”

Akashi risks a glance at his father and is unsurprised to find Akashi’s father’s narrowed eyes fixed on him. Something in Akashi quails at that look, but he does not back down; he meets his father’s gaze for a full beat, until Akashi’s father’s attention is taken by his grandfather once more.

Akashi lets out a soft breath. The Winter Cup. He should’ve known that would be a topic of conversation today. This gathering is usually prime time to recount the Akashi family’s achievements, so why not discuss the family’s failings, as well?

As he recalls the game that sealed his second-place fate, Akashi finds his mind turning to Kagami, and from there to the laptop lying closed on his desk upstairs. They left some conversation topics hanging on Friday night, due to both of them having early practice the next morning, and Akashi still has some opinions he would like to share on the best drills to run while practicing straight passing.

He barely notices that his knee is fidgeting until his grandmother asks him, kindly, “Are we keeping you from something, Seijuurou-kun?”

“Oh, ah…” Akashi can’t help but glance up at the ceiling, where he knows his computer lies. “No, not really. I just have some… homework. That I need to complete this evening. That’s all.”

“Masaomi, let the boy finish his homework,” Akashi’s grandmother chides. “He doesn’t need to sit here listening to us jabber all night.”

Akashi’s father stiffens, but he does not argue with his mother.

“You heard her, Seijuurou,” he says. “You are dismissed until dinner.”

Akashi stands and bows from the waist, trying not to look too eager to leave.

“Thank you, Father, Grandmother.”

His grandmother waves him out of the room, and Akashi fights the urge to break into a jog as soon as the stairs come into view. He settles for taking the steps two at a time, and, within moments, he is closing his bedroom door behind him, leaning against the doorframe with a sigh.

He glances guiltily at the books on his bed. He does have homework to do—that was not an outright lie—but his feet take him to his desk, and soon his laptop is open and humming before him. He clicks the sky blue Skype icon in his toolbar and turns the volume down on his computer as the application boots up.

While he’s waiting, Akashi opens an internet browser and starts scrolling through the list of drills he discovered late Friday night, trying to find the one he wanted to tell Kagami about.

A message pops into the top right-hand corner of his screen.

_hey! i thought you had grandparents today_

It’s one of the first times Kagami has used any punctuation other than a rogue (and usually incorrectly placed) period or two, and Akashi finds himself smiling slightly at the exclamation point, which seems to bounce on his screen like it’s happy to see him.

Or, well… like _Kagami_ is happy to see him. Which perhaps he is, and that’s something for Akashi to ponder on another day, when he hasn’t been waiting all afternoon to talk about literally anything other than business and distant relatives.

_they’re still here_ , he sends, _but i’ve been briefly dismissed to get some homework done before dinner._

_oh_ , comes the reply, and Akashi can almost feel Kagami’s disappointment. _how much do you have to do_

_i’m putting it off for now. remember that drill i was talking about last week?_

_for straight passing?_

_yes. i found the link again._

Akashi pastes the URL into the window and hits Enter, and then waits as, presumably, Kagami opens the webpage in his own browser. From there, they’re off chatting again, and the minutes fly by until Akashi’s father calls up to him that dinner is ready.

_i have to go_ , Akashi sends reluctantly. _dinner._

_i’ll be on for the rest of the night if you can escape again_

Akashi stares at that message for a moment, his face pleasantly warm: _if you can escape_. Like they’re comrades, now. Friends, bonding over the dreaded duty of familial obligations.

_i’ll do my best_ , Akashi sends back, and then he closes his computer and gets to his feet, letting out a slow, even breath as he steels himself for dinner.

*

It happens for the first time about two weeks after their first Friday night conversation. Akashi is in the back of one of his father’s more understated sedans (sleek and expensive, but less ostentatious than the limousine) when he catches sight of a movie poster plastered onto a billboard—some terrible action movie he knows Kagami wants to see—and feels the urge to tell Kagami about it.

He is in the process of reaching for his phone when he realizes that he doesn’t have Kagami’s number, only his Skype name.

He slumps back against the leather seat, staring blankly out the window, trying to figure out when he started wanting to talk to Kagami about inanities like movies and what he ate for dinner the night before and whether Kagami passed that exam he was stressing over. It’s a strange paradigm shift, honestly; usually Akashi doesn’t even talk to his fellow classmates about things like that, but for some reason when it’s Kagami, the conversation just flows.

That night, while they’re Skyping, Akashi asks Kagami for his cell phone number. Kagami sends it without hesitation. Akashi enters the number into his phone and composes a single message, just a simple _This is Akashi_ , and hits send. A few seconds later, his phone vibrates with the response: _roger that i read you loud and clear over_

It’s just dumb enough to startle a laugh from Akashi, and he hesitates for only a moment before saving the number to his phone as _Taiga_. He stares at the entry for a few seconds, reading the name over in his head, and then he sets the phone aside and turns back to his computer, where Kagami has already started typing his next (apparently lengthy) message.

Perhaps he won’t address Kagami by his first name quite yet, but this is a step, at least; a personal one, for Akashi’s eyes only.

For now, it’s enough.

*

The invitation comes a few days later.

Akashi is sprawled on his back on his bed, holding a book above his head. He has read the same sentence at least three times without quite grasping what it says. His mind is too full of minor mistakes made at practice that afternoon, of the terse way his father asked him about his class work over dinner, of the rain pounding against his window. It’s a relief when his phone vibrates beside his head and he can set the book aside, picking up the phone instead.

It’s a text from Kagami.

_are you busy this friday_

Akashi stares at the text for a moment. It’s Tuesday, today. Usually he and Kagami do not schedule their Skype conversations this far in advance. It’s more of a spur-of-the-moment, end-of-the-night deal; a quick _you free tomorrow?_ followed by either a _yes_ or a _not until later but i can make it work_ , because there are few days now where neither of them can make it work.

So this question can’t be in reference to a Skype conversation, which means it must be for something more. Akashi is unsure how to respond with anything other than the truth, so he warily types out a reply:

_not that I know of. why?_

He sets the phone aside and stares at his ceiling, as though he can ignore the fact that he’s waiting anxiously for a response. He jiggles his right foot lightly on his bedspread and listens to the rain. He wonders if it will let up before tomorrow. He wonders if he will be quizzed tomorrow on this reading that he clearly will not complete.

His phone vibrates.

_i’m having some of the guys over for a movie night, you should come_

Akashi blinks at this. _some of the guys_. Does that mean that he is also one of the guys? What guys are these? Are these guys that Akashi knows, or are they guys from Seirin, classmates of Kagami’s?

Kagami is typing again, and after a moment the following message appears:

_kuroko’s coming, and so are aomine and kise and midorima i think_

A pause, in which Kagami continues typing, and then: _midorima never really gave a response but he usually shows up anyway_

Akashi waits for a moment to see if there’s anything else, but apparently that’s all there is for now. Now Kagami is just waiting for Akashi’s response.

A movie night. Akashi can’t even remember the last time he went to something like that. Perhaps in elementary school? Earlier? Sometime before his mother passed, surely.

His stomach jumps a little when he considers the notion of attending this movie night. Surrounded by his middle school friends, people he’s barely spoken with since the Winter Cup, and then only to try to carefully make amends. He wonders if they’d accept him. Kagami would, of course. Kuroko, perhaps, and Midorima. But Aomine? Kise? Akashi has no idea how they’d react to him suddenly appearing on Kagami’s doorstep, bearing a beverage of some kind, possibly a snack ( _never go to a party empty-handed_ ), ready to marathon movies like the past couple of years never happened.

Apologies and small, formal steps towards reconciliation are one thing.

Spending a night lounging around in Kagami Taiga’s apartment watching movies and pretending that nothing is wrong would be quite another.

Akashi takes a deep breath and responds:

_i will have to let you know later this week. my father might have plans._

It’s a polite way of saying “probably not,” and Akashi feels guilty the moment he sends it. He doesn’t want to disappoint Kagami—he’s flattered to have been asked, his warm cheeks are proof enough of that—but he can’t squash the suspicion that the movie night would be a spectacular failure.

Even so, he adds a quick: _thank you for inviting me._

_anytime_ , Kagami sends back. _just let me know, the invitation stands_

Akashi sighs and lowers his phone to his side. He resumes staring at his ceiling.

It’s still raining.

*

The week trips by in a dreary, rainy haze, and soon enough it’s Friday. Akashi has had a few late-night Skype chats with Kagami since their text conversation on Tuesday, but Kagami hasn’t brought up the movie night again, even though Akashi is sure he hasn’t forgotten. There’s been no pressure to give a firm response, but Akashi feels a bit like he’s suffocating. There is a part of him that desperately wants to go, a part of him that wants to try this new experience, wants to try to fit in with these people he used to be friends with, these people he used to speak to every day, before Teikou changed them all.

But then he remembers the past couple of years, and his courage fails him.

His phone lights up with a text after school on Friday. It’s from Kagami, of course.

_festivities start at 7, if you’re still interested_

And then he sends his address.

Akashi stares at the texts for a few moments, wondering how he should respond. In the end, he simply locks his phone and slips it into his pocket. He can always pretend that he didn’t notice the messages and so was unable to reply.

Dinner with his father that night is a quiet affair, the silence somehow heavier than usual. Akashi keeps stealing glances at the clock, wondering how soon he would have to leave in order to make it to Kagami’s on time, whether the others were already there, if perhaps Kuroko got there earlier to help with the set up.

He wonders how long it will be before one of them misses him.

His father notices him watching the clock about halfway through dinner.

“You keep doing that,” his father says sharply, after the third time Akashi risked a quick glance. “Am I keeping you from something more important than dinner with your father?”

“No, Father,” Akashi says, an automatic response. He hesitates, his heart thumping, and then adds, “Although there is something happening this evening that I was considering attending.”

“Hm?” His father takes a disinterested bite, satisfied now that he has his son’s attention. “And what might that be? A school function?”

“A get-together with some friends, actually.”

Akashi’s father pauses mid-bite, eyes narrowing. “And which friends might those be?”

“My Teikou teammates,” Akashi says. His heart is thudding in his ears now; he knows he’s on treacherous ground. “You remember.”

“The ones who lost to you,” Akashi’s father says, setting his bowl down. “Midorima-kun was one of them, yes? And the dark one.”

Anger flares in Akashi’s chest. “I’ve asked you not to call him that,” he says. “His name is Aomine Daiki.”

Akashi’s father just grunts. “And who else would be at this little get-together? Just the Teikou boys?”

“No,” Akashi says; he feels braver by the moment, his nerves burned away by an old, familiar anger. “Tetsuya’s friend Kagami is hosting. He’ll be there, too.”

“The Seirin player.” Akashi’s father’s voice is low and dangerous. “You’re going to spend time with the team that beat you?”

“Why should that matter?”

“Because this isn’t how you deal with defeat, Seijuurou,” snaps Akashi’s father. “You don’t befriend the ones who beat you. You study them, you find their weaknesses, and you get your revenge.”

“I don’t care about revenge,” Akashi says automatically, and then pauses for a moment when he realizes it’s true. _When did that happen?_

His father’s face is stormy. “Is this because of your new love for your Teikou friends?” He spits the word “friends” like it’s a poison. “Or is this what Rakuzan has taught my son? I sent you to that school for a reason, Seijuurou. It was supposed to be the best, and if this is what it’s turned you into, then—”

“I’m leaving,” Akashi says, pushing himself away from the table.

His father pins him with a mutinous look. “We are not finished here.”

“I am.” Akashi turns away from the table, away from his father, whose face is rapidly turning red and apoplectic. “Thank you for the meal.”

“Akashi Seijuurou, if you leave this house, I swear, I will—”

Akashi never learns what he will do. He’s already out the door.

*

It only takes about three minutes of wandering out in the rain for Akashi to decide that perhaps he was a bit hasty in his departure. He has no coat nor umbrella, for one thing, and he’s already soaked to the bone; a t-shirt and jeans aren’t exactly the ideal rainy day outfit. He also has no clue where he’s going, or what he’ll do when he needs to go back. His father won’t be forgiving of this rebelliousness, but Akashi can’t very well just run away forever. He knows that. He’ll have to return at some point, and when he does, it won’t be pretty.

But for now, he needs somewhere to go.

Shivering, Akashi ducks beneath a bus shelter and takes out his phone. He opens the texts he received earlier from Kagami. The address isn’t too far from here, actually; maybe a bus ride or two. It should only take about twenty minutes, if the traffic is good. Luckily, Akashi has his wallet in his other pocket. He plots out his route, shoves his phone back into his pocket, and sits down to wait.

Twenty-five minutes later, he’s standing outside an unfamiliar apartment building, checking the address against his phone. A young woman holds the door open for him, and soon enough, he’s standing outside Kagami Taiga’s apartment, rain water dripping sullenly down his neck and onto the floor.

He raises a fist, hesitates for just a second, and then knocks sharply three times.

“Coming!” yells a muffled voice from inside the apartment, and Akashi realizes with a start that for however much he and Kagami have been talking over the past few weeks, he’s still only heard Kagami’s voice a few times before.

The door opens and he finds himself faced with his host, who stares at him in quiet shock for a moment and then smiles.

“Hey,” Kagami says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It was a rather last minute decision,” Akashi says, and he sees the shift in Kagami’s expression as he finally notices Akashi’s sodden clothes and hair.

“Holy crap, you’re soaked,” Kagami says, and steps aside, a clear invitation. “Come in, I’ll grab you a towel and some dry clothes.”

Akashi steps inside, still feeling oddly hesitant. “That’s really not ne—”

“It’s no trouble,” Kagami says, already heading for—presumably—his bedroom, or a linen closet. “You can just put your shoes with the others. Everybody’s in the living room, through there. I’ll be right back.”

Akashi stands awkwardly in the entryway. He looks down at the pile of shoes—all boys’ shoes, basketball shoes, mostly, huge and expensive and haphazardly kicked into a pile, like their owners did this all of the time, like they were used to this kind of easy hospitality.

Akashi toes off his own shoes slightly apart from the pile, so as not to get the others wet, and then steps further into the apartment, heading for the living room, where he can already hear the quiet sound of a television and the cadence of familiar voices.

He takes a steadying breath before he enters the room, and the conversation cuts off abruptly as the other boys take notice of him.

Aomine is sprawled out on the couch, a remote control held loosely in one hand. Kise is on the floor near him, leaning against the couch, hands cupping a glass of ice water. On the other side of the room, sitting neatly in the two armchairs, are Midorima and Kuroko, Kuroko looking calm and comfortable and right at home, Midorima rather stiff-backed, but still somehow like he belonged.

Akashi can only imagine what they’re all thinking, looking over at him. He must look like a bedraggled mess, a drowned cat who’s wandered in from the cold, unexpected, uninvited, possibly (probably?) unwanted.

The spell is broken when Aomine waves a lazy hand and says, “Yo.”

“Akashicchi!” Kise says brightly. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Why are you so wet?” Kuroko asks, blunt as always.

“Today was supposed to be a lucky day for you,” Midorima says with a frown. “How could you have forgotten an umbrella?”

Akashi opens his mouth to respond—to whom, he has no idea, but it seems like the right thing to do—and then a warm, clean-smelling towel lands on his head with a quiet _fwump_.

“You’d better dry off so you don’t catch a cold,” Kagami says, and there’s a brief pressure on the top of Akashi’s head— _is that Kagami’s hand?_ —before Kagami brushes past him and into the living room. “You can change in the bathroom, if you want.”

Akashi peeks out from under the towel and watches as Kagami swats Aomine’s long legs off of one end of the couch and then flops down in the newly vacated spot. He makes no protest when Aomine immediately throws his legs back over him again. The entire scene is so comfortable—so natural—that for a moment all Akashi can do is stare, wondering when this happened, how he missed it, whether he could someday be a part of it.

“I can show you where the bathroom is, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko says, half-rising, but Akashi shakes his head, reaching up to slide both the towel and the folded shirt off of his head.

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The apartment isn’t overlarge, so it’s easy to locate the bathroom just down the hall, and Akashi quietly closes himself into it. He peers at his reflection in the mirror. His skin is pale and damp, his hair dripping, and his soaked t-shirt is plastered to his skin. He sighs, displeased that this was how they saw him for the first time in lord-knows-how-long, and then he strips off his shirt and unfolds the clean one Kagami gave him.

It’s black and a bit too large, bearing an unfamiliar sports team logo (a large white _LA_ , framed by a five-sided box with a stylized crown underneath; the back says _GRETZKY_ , whatever that means), but it’s warm and dry and comfortable, and Akashi is grateful that he won’t have to freeze. He carefully hangs his own shirt over the shower to dry, and then heads back into the living room, scrubbing at his hair with the towel.

In Akashi’s absence, space was made for him on the couch, and he takes a seat beside Kagami.

“Thank you for the shirt and towel,” Akashi says, still toweling off his hair.

Kagami grins. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got t-shirts to spare, and there’s no reason for you to freeze.”

“Out of curiosity,” Akashi asks, “who is Gretzky?” The foreign name feels awkward on his tongue.

Kagami blinks at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

Akashi just stares.

“Oh my god,” Kagami says, in English, and Akashi notices Aomine and Kuroko rolling their eyes; Kagami’s lapses into English must not be a new thing. “Wayne Gretzy? The Great One? He’s one of the best hockey players of all time.”

“Ah,” Akashi says. Hockey, he knows, vaguely. Hockey players and teams, he does not.

“Remind me to send you some clips the next time we Skype,” Kagami says, and Akashi flushes a bit, oddly pleased by how easily Kagami admits to the entire room that they’ve been chatting regularly. “He’s incredible.”

“Please don’t make Akashi into a Kings fan, too,” Aomine says. “I can barely handle one.”

Kagami turns to scowl at Aomine. “You just like the Blackhawks because they’ve been good recently.”

“They’re always good,” Aomine says. “They’re a powerhouse team. A dynasty. The Kings are boring.”

“Traitor,” Kagami says.

“Dumbass,” Aomine says.

“Shall we start the movie?” Kuroko says.

With one last glare at Aomine, Kagami gets to his feet and heads for the television, and soon enough, the opening credits are playing on some American superhero movie Akashi remembers Kagami talking about a few weeks back.

They all settle in nicely as the movie starts to roll, Akashi still with a towel around his neck, content to listen to the quiet commentary from Midorima and Kagami and Aomine. At one point, Kagami rises, disappears into the kitchen, and returns with a couple of bowls of popcorn, one of which he hands to Kuroko for him and Midorima to share, the other of which goes on his own lap; Aomine attacks it as soon as Kagami sits down, and Kise keeps stretching up to grab messy handfuls.

The room darkens around them, and the popcorn eventually vanishes. Akashi is warm and content and comfortable enough to add his own comments to the movie, comments which draw, by turns, laughter from Kagami, a smirk from Aomine, a small debate with Midorima, an approving smile from Kise, a sharp comment from Kuroko. The quiet murmur of laughter and familiar voices lulls Akashi into a comfortable daze; he closes his eyes and leans back against the couch, just for a few minutes, just until the end of the movie, maybe, but the next thing he knows, there’s a blanket being draped over him, the television is off, and the voices are gone.

Akashi blinks himself awake, eyes gradually adjusting to the dimly lit room. His arms are trapped by a soft red blanket, and it takes a few seconds for him to free one hand to rub at his eye.

“Oh, you’re up.” It’s Kagami’s voice, quiet in the darkness, and Akashi can just make out his silhouette, standing by the television, a DVD case in his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“How long have I been asleep?” Akashi asks.

“Only about a half hour,” Kagami says. “You looked exhausted, and we didn’t want to wake you up if we didn’t have to.”

“The others left?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes ago. Kuroko said he’s sorry they didn’t say goodbye.” Kagami smirks. “Midorima wanted to check your pulse. But they’re happy you came.”

Akashi hums deep in his throat, still feeling drowsy and warm. “What time is it?”

“Just after eleven.”

Akashi sighs and starts to free himself from the blanket. “I should go,” he says. “It’s getting late.”

“Hey.” Kagami’s voice is different. Deeper. Heavier. Akashi stays very still. “Why were you soaked when you got here?” He doesn’t look at Akashi, instead fiddling with the DVD case in his hands. “Did you, uh. Did you have a fight with your dad?”

Akashi stares at him. He had no idea that his disagreements with his father were so transparent from their conversations, but perhaps Kagami Taiga was more intuitive than Akashi thought.

He clenches his fists in his lap, one above the blanket, one below.

“We had words,” he says. “About this. About my friends. It was… unpleasant.”

Kagami nods slowly, and his shoulders lose some of their tension, as though he’s relieved that his supposition was correct.

“Okay,” he says. “You know, you can stay here for the night, if you want. If you don’t want to deal with that until tomorrow.”

Akashi’s chest feels tight. At the moment, he wants nothing more than to just curl underneath this blanket and never move again, but that’s bizarre, really. He’s never been here before. He’s barely spoken with Kagami in person, except to exchange threats on the basketball court, but he’d really rather not think about that right now.

And now Kagami is offering him sanctuary. A quiet place to spend the night, until Akashi’s father calms, and Akashi feels confident enough to face him again.

“Why?” Akashi asks, before he can stop himself. “Why would you let me stay?”

Kagami shrugs. “Because you’re a friend.”

Akashi feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He should have been prepared for this—should know that it’s true, that this is where they are now, that this is so much simpler for Kagami than it is for him, Kagami, who makes friends like breathing, who has somehow managed to befriend the entire Generation of Miracles in less than a year—but it’s still a shock to hear it stated so candidly. A pleasant shock, of course, but a shock nonetheless.

Akashi wonders vaguely what that says about him.

“Oh,” Akashi says. It’s really all he can say.

“Obviously I can’t make you stay, but… yeah.” Kagami rubs the back of his neck, looking unsure for the first time that night. “I have an extra futon. If you want it.”

“Thank you.” Akashi sinks deeper into the blanket. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Kagami breaks into a smile. “Sure. Okay. Great. I’ll set it up in my room, if that’s okay with you. There should be enough room.”

“That sounds fine.”

Kagami heads off to get his bedroom ready, leaving Akashi alone in the living room to consider these slightly surreal circumstances. This is the first time he’s run off without letting his father know where he is. He wonders if his father is concerned, if he’s waiting for Akashi to come home. He wonders what he’ll do when Akashi doesn’t come home. Will he call the police? Will he call Akashi? Will he assume that whatever Akashi has gotten himself into, it’s probably deserved?

Akashi wonders what his father will say, when he learns that Akashi spent the night at Kagami Taiga’s apartment.

Akashi wonders if he even _cares_ what his father might say.

He suspects that he does not.

“Hey.” Kagami is back, a toothbrush in his mouth, foam at the corners of his lips. “Futon’s ready.”

“Thank you.” Akashi slides off of the couch, leaving the warm, fuzzy blanket behind with no small amount of regret. He heads for the bedroom, and it’s odd, how comfortable it is here, how similar this room is to his own: the basketball jersey thrown over a chair, the books stacked haphazardly on the desk, the hastily made bed and pile of clothes in the corner.

Akashi drops to his knees beside the futon spread out on the floor and flops onto it, suddenly exhausted. He wriggles to situate himself beneath the blankets, and even though he knows he should probably go to the bathroom, brush his teeth, wash his face, it’s very hard to move.

His eyes are already closed by the time Kagami enters the room, turning the lights off in his wake. Akashi can tell that Kagami is trying to be quiet as he steps carefully around the futon to his bed, but Kagami stubs his toe on something, judging by the sharp thud and ensuing muffled curses.

Akashi listens with his eyes closed as Kagami settles into his bed and clicks off the bedside light. It’s only after it’s been dark and quiet for a few minutes that Akashi finally feels like he can speak.

“Taiga,” he says, softly.

“Hm?”

Akashi smiles; Kagami shows no reaction to being addressed by his first name, and perhaps that’s the American in him, or maybe he’s just half-asleep already, but it’s still a relief.

“Thank you,” Akashi says. “For inviting me tonight. And for letting me stay.”

“Anytime,” Kagami says, his voice already heavy with sleep. “I’m glad you came.”

“Goodnight,” Akashi says.

“’Night.”

Akashi lets out a quiet breath and curls up beneath the blankets. He doesn’t know yet that Kagami will wake up before him tomorrow morning and tiptoe past him to make breakfast. He doesn’t know that he’ll be eating omurice at Kagami’s kitchen table while the two of them discuss basketball and the movie they watched and what they expect to be doing in the next week. He doesn’t know that movie night will become a Friday tradition, that he’ll be invited out to dinner, out to parties, out to play basketball with his old Teikou friends and their teammates. He doesn’t know that his father’s anger over his disappearance will be quiet and disappointed, but bearable, especially now that Akashi can escape the house whenever he wants.

He doesn’t know these things. Not yet. But he knows that he’s comfortable, and warm, and safe, and that’s enough to help him fall into a contented sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I made my son a Kings fan. I feel dirty. (Go Hawks.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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